When I stopped looking for Ararat, I accidentally found it. On a long walk to the Sergei Parajanov Museum to the west of the city, the buildings finally cleared and I caught a glimpse of the mountain, still shrouded in mist, with just the outline of its twin peaks and a snowy top visible. I took a picture, but all it shows is a thin outline. A faint representation of its potent majesty.
Inside the museum, I was treated to a bounty of riches. The museum is one of the European Film Academies’ Treasures of Cinema, alongside the Odessa Steps, the Notting Hill Book Store, Institut Lumière and Studio Babelsberg. A relatively small place with a mere two floors, it’s a cosy and welcoming trip into one of cinema’s most visionary minds.
While perhaps his famous films could be described as solemn and austere, deeply steeped in the lore of Ukrainian, Georgian and Armenian culture, his artworks feel like pop art, including various mock-ups of the Mona Lisa, self-portraits in different styles and a brilliant vision of America according to Lenin. His collagist techniques, abundance of imagination and sheer visual panache are a wonder to behold. If he never even made a single film, his status as an artist on what would be his 100th birthday is unassailable.
Perhaps it’s mentioned in the audio tour, available in Russian, English and Armenian, but I saw no mention of his bisexuality, one of the key reasons he was imprisoned in 1948 and 1973. It’s strange as for many LGBT Georgians and Armenians, Parajanov is a queer icon. (It’s worth noting here that significant discrimination still exists across the Caucasus, excellently displayed in works such as Elene Naveriani’s Wet Sand [2021] or Levan Akin’s And Then We Danced [2019])
But I did see his prison work, including gorgeously engraved coins made on aluminium foil caps. The ability to keep creating art, even in the worst possible conditions, is remarkable.
Read the rest over at Journey Into Cinema!